


The King's Wedding

by thequeenmeera



Series: If Not For You [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, barely proofread fics, bran/meera wedding, dany and gendry were there they just didn't get featured, fluffy with a touch of smutty, i keep having to go back and fix little mistakes, maybe i'll write one for arya/gendry in the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-24 23:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16185524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeenmeera/pseuds/thequeenmeera
Summary: Bran & Meera's wedding





	The King's Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Since my blog passed it's first "blogiversary" a few weeks ago and I decided to do some writing in celebration.  
> Oh, yeah if you haven't already you are encouraged to go and follow me here - [theladymeera](http://theladymeera.tumblr.com)

Meera smoothed the front of her dress. It was green silk with the black lizard-lions embroidered all along the hems, twisting and snapping. Bran's sister Sansa was artful with a needle in ways Meera could never be. The fabric was thin enough that if they had been less lucky Meera would have been freezing in it, but she was lucky and it was a warm night for the northern autumn. Her fingers ran across the ridges of her belt which, like her shoes, was made of a lizard-lion skin. It had been made at Winterfell though, by a craftsman rather than by herself in the crannogs and so the belt was nearly as intricately designed as the dress. The sounds of a lute and a harp floated in through the open window – Bran had forbidden drums – but the sound faded as Meera’s father lead her from the little room and down the corridor, down the twisting stairs. They paused when they reached the bottom and her father adjusted the heavy green cloak on her shoulders, he held her there, his hands on her shoulders and stared solemnly for a few moments. “Meera” he said.  


“Yes father?”  


“Are you sure you want this?”  


Meera smiled and patted his shoulder “I do.”  


He nodded slowly, “Alright” he cleared his throat, “let’s be off then.” He let his hands drop and Meera looped one arm through his. He led her out of the keep and to the godswood.  
  


Bran hated wearing a crown but Sansa had insisted, “All your lords bannermen are here little brother. Meera may see _you_ but they will see their king. You must be their king.”  


He’d been dressed in a new white doublet and vest, and gray breeches. His sisters and Daenerys had all said he looked fine, handsome, or regal. His chair was not new, he’d wished he could have ridden Dark Wind but that fantasy had died before he could even speak it. The godswood was filled with people, his lords and ladies and as many of the servants as could fit. Their stench filled Summer’s nose and nearly overwhelmed Bran until Jon’s hand on his shoulder distracted him. Jon could smell them too, Bran could tell.  


A hush had fallen over the crowd that had been noisy a moment before. Bran swallowed his nerves and breathed slowly, she was coming. Rickon smirked at Bran the way a boy his age would when the bride approached. Bran’s breath caught for a moment when he saw her. She’d always been pretty but now in her wedding garb with pink and yellow autumn flowers woven around her head like the crown Bran had had made for her she was the most beautiful woman Bran had ever seen. Their eyes met and Bran grinned at her and when her father had to stop her approach he bit back a laugh, Rickon did not.  


Jon spoke now “Who comes?” he asked, his voice ringing through the trees.  


“The Lady Meera of House Reed” her father answered “a woman flowered and noble born. Who claims her?”  


“Me” Bran said but he could barely hear himself, he cleared his throat and said it again “Me, I claim her” and blushed when Meera smiled wider at him. “Who gives her?”  


“Howland of House Reed, her father.” He looked down at his daughter’s head “Meera, will you take this man?” 

With barely a glance at her father Meera nodded “I take this man.” Her father dropped his arm and Meera walked to Bran, she took his hands and knelt before the heart tree. Bran had only a minute to think, one minute of quiet before Meera squeezed his hand, indicating it was time for him to change her cloak. Bran fumbled with the brooch as he unpinned it and the cloak dropped, the green one with the great black lizard-lion emblazoned on the back, the one that brought out her eyes, before Bran could grab it. He had to ignore it now. He picked up the white cloak with a snarling gray direwolf on the back that was folded in his lap and draped it over Meera’s shoulders, her smile was making his fingers fumble again and he nearly dropped her bride’s cloak on top of her maiden’s cloak. She snickered quietly while he corrected himself. When he was done she rose, put her hands on his face, and kissed him sweetly but too quickly while the godswood filled with hoots and cheers.  
  


“The queen took off her sandal, the king took off his crown” some of the men were drunkenly singing along with the musicians below. Meera shifted, moving her back off the chair. The great hall was hot from the fires blazing in the hearths and the _people_ ; so many of them cramped into the space. Meera could barely hear anything over the music, shouting, and jesting that was happening all around them. She felt hot and itchy from the wine she’d been given and the cool autumn ale, the hot beef-and-barley stew, the slice of aurochs – Bran had nudged her when it had been served. Those had been among the dishes Bran had sent to her and Jojen when they’d first come to Winterfell for a different feast, so long ago now.  


Meera squeezed Bran’s hand and leaned over to whisper in his ear “What about the bedding?”  


He looked at her “What about it?”  


“Are we really going to go through with it?”  


“Well,” he said, Meera was still surprised by how deep his voice had grown, “We don’t have to if you don’t want.” She nodded slowly, thinking. “Do you want to?” he asked, he seemed almost hurt.  


Meera wetted her lips, “I – I mean, I’m not anxious for the bedding ceremony.” Bran’s eyebrows knit together and he frowned a little, “But as for the _bedding_ ” she said blushing, “I’m not calling that off.”  


Bran nodded, “To be honest I’m not looking forward to the ruckus either,” then he leaned in conspiratorially “but I could use the help.”  


They laughed and Meera kissed him again; she liked kissing him. She wondered if she’d like bedding him. The king and queen in the song were down to their nameday clothes and the crowd was growing more restless. A few men began to take up the call for the bedding. Banging their cups on the tables and shouting “Bed them! Bed them!”  


King Jon was on Bran’s other side, he rose calling for silence. It was impossible to achieve but the hall did grow quiet enough for Jon’s voice to be heard. “My lords,” he began, voice booming, “the hour is growing late and I am sure our young bride and groom are anxious to get to their bed. Shall we help them?” The crowd cheered and someone with large hands grabbed Meera from behind, tugging her out of the chair. She screamed in surprise but the sound was drowned by the crowd.  


The men who bore Meera to her marriage bed were neither gentle nor tactful. She was subjected to joke after joke about her upcoming ‘ride,’ questions about whether or not the young King in the North could even consummate, and jokes about Meera’s age and the size of her breasts while they ripped her clothes off. She prayed her father hadn’t joined the throng, she doubted it.  


Meera was dumped in her bed without ceremony, the women were gentler with Bran. The two of them struggled to cover themselves while Jon herded the wedding guests out of their bedchamber. Before he left Jon turned back around and made one final jest about wedding nights before bidding them a good night and shutting the door behind him. Once the door was closed Meera threw off the covers, raced to the door, and threw down the heavy beam to block anyone from entering. She turned back around, panting slightly. Bran was staring at her, his mouth hung open slightly and his eyes were not on her face. Meera swallowed, she hadn’t believed she could feel more exposed or embarrassed than she already had that night. She reminded herself that Bran was her husband now, it didn’t matter if _he_ saw her naked but the urge to hide was still strong.  


Their bedchamber was large - they were the King’s quarters after all - and dark being lit only by the fire that was crackling merrily in the hearth and the candles that had been set around the room. Meera stood still before the door and Bran kept looking, his eyes moved slowly downward before roaming back up to her face. By the look on his face Meera would have thought he was looking at a bowl of blackberries only it was stronger. He looked _hungry_. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly but there was an edge behind the softness, echoing the hunger that she saw in his face.  


Meera glanced at her bare feet on the rushes, all she could manage in reply was a choked “Um.”  


There was still a weight on her head, _The flowers_ she realized. She reached up to begin removing them. “Stop,” Bran’s sternness startled her and she stopped, looking back at him. “Could you leave them on?” He bit his lip, “they’re pretty.”  


Meera nodded and let her hands drop back to her sides. _We can’t just stare at each other all night._ She breathed deeply and exhaled before she let herself go to Bran.  
  


It took a few minutes for them both to catch their breath. Meera laid pressed against Bran’s side, his seed hot and sticky between her thighs. She knew she ought to get up and clean it off but she was so tired she’d barely been able to roll off of Bran.  


He spoke first, his voice hoarse and low “That was,” he paused, swallowing “I hadn’t imagined it could feel so good.”  


Meera ran a hand through the auburn hairs that had sprouted on his chest, she wondered when that had started, then brought it up to stroke his stubbly cheek, “I hadn’t either.”  


His eyes seemed unfocused when he looked at her. “The flowers –”  


“Oh, right” Meera nodded, “I’m just – I’m too tired to do anything right now.”  


He nodded, his chin bumping against the top of her head “I understand.”  


Bran rubbed the arm Meera had thrown across his chest. She hummed and he breathed in her ear. For a few more moments they could rest like this. Still warm together in spite of the growing autumn chill without. Meera shifted, again noticing the warm, sticky seed between her legs. “Do you think we’re going to have any children?” she asked.  


Bran hummed, “It’s as likely as with any other man and woman. We know that now.”  


“I meant did you _see_ anything about us, in your trees?”  


“I haven’t looked. And I won’t.” He adjusted his arms around her and ran a hand through the hair that hung down her back. “Do you want a babe so badly?”  


Meera shrugged “I don’t know, I was just wondering.”  


Bran didn’t push the subject. They were both so tired Meera almost forgot to pull the blankets and furs back over them before falling asleep, still nestled against her husband’s side.  


Outside of Winterfell the wolves ran deeper into the wood, hot on the trail of a herd of elk. One great gray direwolf threw back his head and howled at the harvest moon. Elsewhere other animals were scurrying to eat, to gather food, to dig holes to take shelter in for the winter. All through the North men, women, and children prayed to their gods, asking for an abundant harvest, a short winter. Back inside the great gray walls of Winterfell rats and dogs found their way into the scraps from a wedding feast, guards in gray cloaks walked the walls with full bellies. A blacksmith whispered a promise to his lady love, it was too dark for him to see the gray of her eyes. A king slept deeply with his queen wrapped tightly in his arms both dreaming the same dream, a dream of spring.  



End file.
